my careless contagion

Fugazi's Waiting Room is probably better discussed by this author  (it's short) than by me. I just want talk about what the band meant to me. Since we're talking about waiting, let me say waiting is a useless enterprise by itself. Waiting does absolutely nothing in and of itself. Waiting — combined with other activities — can yield positive results, but problems don't go away on their own. The passing of time does not solve anything except our own existence. Problems require the application of a solution. There.  I saw Fugazi in 1998 (forget where but somewhere in Michigan), and a few days after that saw Bad Religion (in Ann Arbor) for the first time, so Fugazi was my first show. They were from Washington, D.C., and kept their ticket prices low so kids could attend. Hardcore was always for the kids. (I guess you would call this post-hardcore.) Tickets were $5 plus $1 Ticketmaster fee. Whereas Bad Religion was lyrics-driven, I liked Fugazi because it was guitar-driven. I...

I don't know when I first started listening to punk rock. Sometime during high school. It is such an expansive genre. My preference was hardcore, notably melodic hardcore. I was drawn to Bad Religion because they were unique and intelligent but also listened to Nitro bands like Guttermouth and AFI. I knew all the Fat Wreck Chords bands. Greatly appreciated Gorilla Biscuits and, later, CIV. I loved Fugazi (I think they were my first show; tickets were $5 plus a Ticketmaster service charge of $1). Later, I got into Social Distortion, Face to Face, Samiam, and others too numerous to list. I had tapes. I had CDs. I had vinyl. Gigabytes of mp3s. Rare stuff, covers, bootlegs, live shows, stuff that was never released anywhere but Japan (why always Japan?). I recall seeing Sick of It All open for AFI and was more impressed with the opening band (even though I wanted to see AFI for about 15 years at that point). I was ready to go home after that. It was ridiculously good. I saw a ton of He...

I've let you go, but the memories remain like the smell after the rain. In every bad thing, there's something good to be found.  I remember the first time you met my parents, when I drove that angry old Jeep out to South Dakota and we drove through the Badlands. It was so hot my rearview mirror melted right off the windshield. We didn't have any reason to look back, though, did we?  You would sneak into my room and sleep on the floor next to me just to be close. We weren't married so we couldn't sleep together, but you couldn't help yourself.  There are so many memories; I'm sorting them now. Some are good and some are bad, but they're all us. We made them, for better or for worse.  How about the night I rolled up to your mom's house for the first time. It was December, but it wasn't cold. I saw you in the flesh for the first time. We talked until the wee hours of the morning. And the next day was Christmas Eve Day. I said I d...